Flowers in the Rain
by BuffySpike Shipper Society
Summary: Rupert Giles investigates a mysterious death in England. Set in the alternate season six world of "Shades of Gray."
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: The characters of 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer" are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions, Inc. No income is being derived from the writing of this fic.

Rating: PG-13

Feedback: Please leave a review here or send email to HitchcokblondeJTaol.com.

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Editor's note: Read the Forward please.

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Forward

By Phil

(Buffy/Spike Shipper Society Editor in Chief)

Let me start this out by saying that each and every one of the Buffy/Spike Shipper Society writers and editors is immensely grateful to our loyal readers who have enjoyed these stories over the last couple of years. You guys are entirely why we write them.

Now, this new fic is a good way to introduce our latest addition to the insanity that is the B/S SS, Jen, who has graciously agreed to try her hand at yet another of my stillborn ideas. For those familiar with our main project, 'Shades of Gray', I will state that this is **not** the long awaited (well, by us anyway) sequel to SOG, which as you all know, is not finished yet. Instead, this is a novella set during the events of "Shades," which follows the adventures of everybody's favorite ex-librarian Rupert Giles, as he investigates shady goings on in England. Familiarity with SOG is helpful but not really necessary. Still, we'd all appreciate it if you did read that fic and review it because, well we're terribly insecure. [Insert evil grin]. For those not familiar, with our previous work, this fic takes place during an alternate season six (often referred to by us as the SOGverse). The events of seasons Six and Seven of the show have not taken place, nor will they. Everything that has happened during the first five seasons however is taken to have happened here as well.

And now, without further ado, we bring you:

Flowers in the Rain

Prologue

Written by Jen

The flight into Heathrow had been a dismal one, and Giles regretted coming to London almost as soon as he set foot on the plane. Had it not been for a charming flight attendant who'd also been a Charles Dickens fan, he would've gone completely mad listening to that wailing child in the row in front of him. The mother apparently didn't understand that jiggling an infant in the throes of considerable turbulence was what Buffy would've termed, "A majorly sucky idea." It ended with said infant doing a horrifyingly accurate impression of Linda Blair in that Exorcist movie. Giles shuddered again to recall both the film, a favorite of Xander's, and the poor baby.   
  
Because of the foul weather, the plane's arrival was delayed by more than two hours, and that meant Giles would have to change clothes for Sir Robert's funeral in the terminal. He loathed dressing in an airport. Public lavatories were never known for tidiness, and the stalls were always so small that one couldn't move about properly. It meant he risked dunking his tie or dipping a pant leg in some revolting substance left behind by a less than scrupulously clean traveler. Oh well, he hoped this would all be over soon. Travers had made it quite clear he was needed, and that Buffy was quite capable of caring for herself. "You're not the girl's father, Rupert, come home now. She'll manage to fend for herself for at least a few days," Giles hoped this trip didn't turn into more than a few days.   
  
At the gate, he noticed that no one was around to meet him. So much the better, it meant a quick change could be done without some weasely little toady of Travers tapping his foot impatiently. Thankfully, he'd remembered to take his suit bag and shaving kit on the plane, and that would mean no rushing about to the carryall to find his luggage hadn't even arrived yet. That would be a fine topper to the day, he smirked, he'd get stuck wearing some horrid thing stashed at Headquarters for the sake of emergencies, and God knew that lacking at least four tweed suits constituted an emergency in that place. Even he had loosened up a bit over the years. Listening to that lot in Sunnydale tease one relentlessly would force the stodgiest of dressers to consider a few wardrobe updates.  
  
Thankfully, the lavatory was easy to find, but, as Giles predicted, the stalls were horribly small. He twisted and turned about like a circus contortionist while occasionally shouting, "Bloody hell," or "Damnit," but he did finally emerge dressed appropriately, and he'd somehow managed to avoid getting himself wet in the process. When he came forth, several curious looks from other passengers awaited him, irksome. His tie, crooked and uneven, had to be redone. The Windsor knot was quickly corrected and Giles was ready to call a cab if necessary, but he hoped someone might have remembered he was there waiting. Surely Travers hadn't planned on his walking from Heathrow to London. The funeral, due to start in an hour, would be considered a highly important affair, and attendance was probably mandatory. Giles envisioned Travers deducting points from any junior who dared to miss out on the festivities.   
  
Fine, it was time to find someone, anyone, and get the hell out of this place. He left the dingy restroom behind and glanced about once more. To his left stood a woman, hair pulled back repressively, eyeing a map. She wore a black suit, simple black pumps, and was roughly the same height as Giles. He smiled, she had lovely calves and pretty ankles. He hoped her face was

just as pleasing, but he had no time to stand about gawking since he was in a hurry. As she turned, he caught sight of her profile and winced. 'Not her,' he thought, 'I'll have to listen to droning stories of her brilliantly written thesis. I'll kills Travers!' Just then, she spotted him.  
  
"Mr. Giles, there you are! I was afraid you'd missed your flight," Lydia Chalmers smiled brightly, "Wonderful, you're ready for Sir Robert's service."  
  
"Yes, Miss Chalmers, I assume Travers sent a car?"  
  
"One of the Bentleys, of course, he felt it best considering the rest of the Council members are arriving in similar vehicles. Though I do think Mr. Travers is driving himself since he wanted to stop at hospital first."  
  
"Hospital?"  
  
"Oh, yes," she nodded, and Giles took note of her lovely and generous mouth, "Mr. Travers wanted to make certain the autopsy reports were finalized this afternoon. You're to visit the coroner. I'm not sure why. Sir Robert was in his seventies, and his heart was weak, but formalities and all." Again she offered a smile, and again Giles cringed to find himself warmed. She was, after all, rather pretty, and he wondered what she'd look like without the glasses, still, she was also an annoying woman.  
  
"Yes, yes, of course. I'm sure his family will wish to see it as well. His grandchildren are working for the Council now?"  
  
"The eldest boy just started, but I believe his younger brother and sister are finishing up at university. I forget, you're quite distanced from all our news."  
  
Giles smiled, "Yes, that's one way to put it. Shall we find this car of yours?"  
  
"Of course," Lydia directed the tired watcher to follow her while saying, "we'll send someone to collect your luggage." Giles matched her crisp walk, and the two set off for the car. Yes, it was going to be a long day.


	2. Lavenders And Lilies

Disclaimer: The characters of 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer" are the property of Joss Hwedon and Mutant Enemy Productions, Inc. No profit is being derived from the writing of this fanfic.

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Rating: PG-13

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Feedback: Please leave a review here or send email to HitchcokblondeJTaol.com

Flowers in the Rain

Chapter 1

Lavenders and Lilies

Written by Jen

Driving through London was never anything but a nuisance, and Giles was grateful he wasn't at the wheel. Late for the church service, Lydia told Giles they'd head directly to Sir Robert's home, just south of London, where he'd be interred in the family mausoleum. It had been years since Giles had attended an Anglican funeral service, and he couldn't say that he was sorry to miss the affair. The Committal would be brief in comparison, and he doubted that Sir Robert's wife had any inclination for a gaudy spectacle-the sooner it was over, the better.   
  
Giles and Lydia rode in silence, him contemplating changes that would soon be made clear within The Council while she appeared to take in the scenery. Thankfully, both Sir Robert's estate and Council Headquarters were near Croydon, roughly fifteen kilometers south of London, Giles might find himself able to catch a bit of rest before heading back to the city and dealing with anyone from the hospital. 'Thank you, Travers,' he thought miserably, 'you couldn't just send some idiot junior to do the work?' He sighed but refrained from complaining aloud.   
  
From Heathrow, it might take as much as an hour to travel to Croydon if traffic was bad. Happily, they were making good time, and as they passed near Chelsea Harbor, Giles felt a wistful desire to stop and walk through some of the nearby gardens and parks. While American fast food restaurants littered street corners throughout the country, Giles had always felt England's past was still there; if so, it was only the ghost of architecture and hidden promise beneath the newer and shinier surfaces.   
  
Thankfully, the journey ended and the long driveway to Sir Robert's presented itself. The house, ill-named Lavender Hall in a place where there was not one lavender plant about, stood roughly five kilometers from the road. The wrought iron gate was already open, and Giles assumed those coming for the burial service were already arriving. It was strange to think Sir Robert had died. He was older, but the man had seemed so vital, alive, and really happy with his family, life, and work. His heart troubles had never seemed to hold the man back from the business of living, and his death felt inconceivable. Giles shook his head sadly.   
  
The car passed the house, an old Tudor style manor, and headed slowly around the back. As always, the gardens were beautiful, just as Giles remembered, despite the fact that the summer flowers were long gone. The paths were straight, narrow, and everything squared off, classic really, he thought. A few pear and quince trees set off the various corners, and several benches were stationed about to make the best use and enjoyment of the grounds. All in all, the Evesham-Hewes family must have spent many content hours roaming about. The family crypt was neat, clean, and prepared for the day, but Giles always marveled when he saw the wilds behind the great house and old chapel. As a child, he'd spent happy hours running and hiding in the cool darkness of Lavender Hall's woods, it seemed he and the Robert's sons were always climbing trees or fishing in the stream, only to return covered in muck. Sir Robert's wife, Penelope, was continuously scolding the boys while Giles' own father and theirs laughed together saying, "Let them run! They'll get enough order when they're older," and holidays with the brothers had always been filled with fun.   
  
Again Giles felt an urge to escape from the car, linger in the wooded peace and lie by the nearest stream. 'Such is the nostalgia of childhood, it's rarely as bad as we believe it was,' he thought, 'while the good memories are often sheltered and painted with an almost mystical awe.'   
  
With that thought in mind, he realized the driver had slowed and finally stopped to allow Giles and Lydia to step from the car. They weren't the first arrivals. Travers waited patiently and motioned for the two to join him, it seemed the car carrying Sir Robert hadn't yet arrived from the church, and his family would surely follow in the funeral procession. No one spoke. Travers overall mood seemed tired and subdued to Giles. The beard the Slayer's watcher would've called streaked with white was now almost purely white, and Quentin had lost some of his boisterously angry attitude.   
  
As expected, the flowers were limited and tasteful. Seating was also limited, and that meant Penelope had decided the services here were to include family and Council only. This meant Vicar Ashby, also an employee of the Council, had every intention of mentioning Sir Robert's exceptional service over the past five decades. Fifty years…It seemed impossible to Giles anyone could work in the Council that long, but he'd already given twenty-five years to these people himself.   
  
Finally, everyone was in place, and the familiar words washed over Giles, "In the midst of life we are in death; of whom may we seek for succor, but of thee, O Lord?" It was the same rite said over many other watchers...even a few Slayers. Vicar Ashby, now in his sixties, spoke with that quiet and strong voice to which Giles remembered being accustomed. He'd often presided

over prayers, blessed many groups before battle, and performed special duties, such as weddings

and christenings, for Council members ever since he'd been inducted into the ministry. He'd never married-always too busy working.   
  
By the time the "Our Father" started, Giles had already settled into the rhythm of being home and with his fellow watchers again. How strange it could happen so quickly, perhaps it was simply the ritual at hand. Finally, the pastor said The Dismissal, "May his soul, and the souls of all the departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen." It was over in thirty, perhaps forty, minutes of Giles time. There was no casting of the earth simply because Sir Robert wasn't being buried, and the grounds were long ago consecrated-no need to perform that task either. The mausoleum was used for heads of the family and their wives, while other family members were buried in the small cemetery outside the dilapidated and unused family chapel. One day, Penelope would rest above ground with her husband in the Evesham-Hewes crypt.   
  
Vicar Ashby thanked everyone for sharing the burden of grief, and he encouraged the mourners to continue the memorial with Penelope, her children and grandchildren at the main house. Refreshments would be provided. Rather than ride to the house with the others, Giles decided to walk and enjoy the oddly warm fall day. He'd been afraid the foul weather he'd experienced in flight would carry over to the funeral, but the afternoon had cleared and turned surprisingly pleasant for October. Rather than be confined with five or six other people, he decided walking might be just what he needed to refresh his mind after the awful trip. Several others agreed with his sentiments, including Quentin Travers who approached the weary watcher, and the various knots of people meandered across the grounds.  
  
"Rupert, I'm glad to see you weren't delayed too long," Quentin said interrupting Giles' thoughts, "how was your flight?"  
  
"Miserable, as I'm sure you've already ascertained," came the snippy reply.  
  
"Yes...well, I suppose you understand the ramifications your absence would have caused. You realize Penelope wanted you here, and she's grateful to you, Rupert, she really had no desire to deal with the coroner herself."   
  
"For God's sake, Quentin! I don't expect Penelope should be forced into that morbid role, but I would have appreciated it had you sent someone else to pick up the paperwork. You wanted me here for the memorial, and I am, but I will not be staying any longer than necessary," Giles stated crisply, "Now, that Lydia Chalmers said you'd send someone for my luggage?"  
  
Quentin Travers sighed, "Yes, but we haven't heard from the young man yet."  
  
Words dripping in sarcasm, Giles replied, "Wonderful, I'm sure those incompetents at Heathrow lost my bags. What a fine end to a truly fine day."   
  
"I'm sure everything was taken care of, Rupert, but I have to ask when you planned to pick up the papers?"  
  
"After a bit of rest-I thought I might eat as well."  
  
"Penelope is expecting you to eat here. She'd like to speak to you, I'm sure, she knows you and the boys were close as children."  
  
Giles sighed, feeling older than he'd thought possible, "None of us is a boy anymore."   
  
They continued their way to the main house, neither man speaking, and each contemplating his own mortality. After walking through the main doors, still heavy oak with wrought iron fittings, Giles watched Sir Robert's wife practically run to greet him. Slim, looking a good fifteen years younger than her age of 67, Penelope Evesham-Hewes smiled brightly. Her green eyes were clear, large, and filled with emotion-happiness over seeing Giles and sadness over losing Sir Robert. She continued to dye her hair a deep chestnut color, and apparently remained as active as she'd always been.  
  
"Rupert!" She hugged him fiercely, "It's wonderful to see you, dear, how are you? You should call me more often. I worry about all you children!" Her voice was lightly scolding.  
  
"Penelope," long ago she'd insisted that Giles call her by her first name since he was basically family to her, "I'm so sorry for your loss. Sir Robert was a good man, and I know we'll miss him terribly."  
  
"Thank you, I miss him already," she patted Giles arm, "Do you remember when you children dragged those salamanders up to his office?"  
  
Giles laughed, "I'd forgotten about that! My father was fit to be tied, but Sir Robert just smiled and called for a basin with water. He spent the rest of the afternoon teaching us as much he could about salamanders while Father cringed."  
  
The two reminisced as long as possible, and then Penelope turned to hug Giles again, "I've got to make certain everyone is comfortable, dear, you will come visit again?"  
  
"Of course," Giles smiled warmly, "I'd be happy to see you again."  
  
"Good, it's settled, and I want to hear all about your Slayer, Rupert, Quentin complains about her all the time. I think it's good for him though-keeps him on his toes."  
  
"Yes, well...Buffy has her own mind, but she's really a very wonderful young woman when you get to know her."  
  
"Said like a father, no, that's not a criticism. You've needed a family for a long time, and I'm glad you've got all those people. Robert once said he believed it's why you and Miss Summers have stayed alive so long."  
  
Smiling, Giles embraced Penelope and told her he'd see her soon. The Council of Watcher's awaited, and Giles dreaded entering Evelyndale Manor, but he was stuck staying there for the remainder of his trip. He remembered hating his father's office, all that gothic revival architecture had made him feel oppressed, as though he'd never see sunlight again.


	3. Fancy a Foxglove?

Disclaimer: The characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions Inc. No monetary profit is being derived from the writing of this fanfiction.

Rating: PG-13

Feedback: Please leave a review here or send e-mail to 

Chapter 2  
"Fancy a Foxglove?"  
  
Written by Jen

Slipping away from the memorial had been easy enough since Penelope agreed to provide Giles cover, and he'd escaped that Chalmers woman, finally. While eating, she'd questioned him endlessly about Sunnydale, and she seemed far too interested in the vampire Giles would just as soon forget! Spike, he would have loved the attention, but there was no way the watcher would share that information. It was bad enough listening to her constant prattle, "William the Bloody was one of the most vicious creatures, you know, we're all quite impressed that you managed to tame him," could these damned Council members be anymore stuffy? Giles didn't think it was possible, and he was tired, cranky too he should admit, but that didn't change the fact that, despite her charming voice and pretty face, that woman simply didn't know when to be quiet. "You know," she'd told him, "I'd really appreciate it if you gave him a copy of my thesis. Perhaps he could correct any misinformation?" Certainly, Giles wanted to tell her, after he's ripped your head from your shoulders and showered in your blood. Why did women not seem to understand that creature was evil?  
  
Giles didn't notice the car slowing as it approached Evelyndale Manor. As always, the stone fence was imposing, and the wrought iron gates were covered in trailing vines Giles had never liked, but it kept prying eyes away from road leading to the main building. An outstanding example of Victorian Gothic Revival, the original house stood and loomed over anyone who dared to enter. It wasn't haunted, nevertheless, Rupert Giles felt as if the house could press him into the soil on which it stood. Built in 1864, it stood unchallenged, imposing its' will across the grounds while challenging visitors not to run screaming. It was surrounded by parks, landscaped and wild, and gardens in abundance. Even the kitchen has its' own garden where the cook undoubtedly went to gather vegetables and herbs. God forbid Quentin Travers endorse anything so modern as a supermarket, but even Giles had to admit there were advantages to stationing The Council of Watchers in a place that was almost entirely self-sufficient.   
  
The main house was damned pregnant with turrets and towers-they were everywhere. As a child, Giles would've sworn the things bred in the night. At least the place wasn't mad with gargoyles too. That would've been too much. And the chapel? It was positively luxurious, most of it's original decor intact, the place looked more like a small cathedral, and there gargoyles seemed to caper and frolic under the unholy direction of whatever God would have them. Despite the warmth, Giles shuddered and felt chilled. He really hated this place. A tribute to English country living-even if that living was dead decades ago. Walk into any place that didn't cater to tourists, ask for tea and cream cakes, and you'd most likely walk out with a punch to the head. Giles sighed and looked dismal at the prospect of walking up the stone stairway.   
  
The front door opened before he even reached the threshold, the watchers were nothing if not efficient, and he stepped in the darkened hallway to hear a tinny voice, "Rupert Giles, right? I thought y'all'd never get here!"  
  
A slight woman with an American southern accent greeted him. She was in her mid fifties, iron gray hair, and probably just sat at the front desk waiting for the chance to greet newcomers and visitors, "Yes, I'm Rupert Giles."  
  
"Thought so, you're the only one staying here at the manor-except a few juniors that old Quents is slave driving these days. Well, you're on the third floor, you know the way. Travers said you spent most of your childhood in this place. Must've been pretty scary," the woman shivered, "your bags aren't here yet, but I can get you something to wear from storage."  
  
"That would be fine. Just, make it something casual, please?" requested Giles.  
  
"Sure thing, honey, these boys have been forced to make allowances for the non-tweed set these days. If you need anything else, just ask for Cheryl. OH! Almost forgot, here are your phone messages."  
  
Giles looked at the small papers and realized each of the five messages was basically the same, though the time varied, "Buffy Summers, Slayer, requests return call," or, "Buffy says it's urgent, call home ASAP," and Giles personal favorite, "What's with this chick on the phone? Oh, sorry, tell Giles to call me." Apparently Buffy didn't realize Cheryl recorded everything she heard. He smiled, feeling a twinge of homesickness, and headed up the massive staircase. Crimson carpeting covered the marble, and Giles was certain that carpet had been there since the house was constructed.   
  
He reached his room, unlocked the door, and settled into what appeared to be a very comfortable suite. Quentin had assigned him to one of the modern rooms. While the furniture and decor matched the house entirely, the armoire was a deceptive piece that hid a television, Bose radio, and there was even a computer with desk. My, oh my, how times were changing. Before napping, Giles decided to try reaching Buffy. He settled into an overstuffed leather armchair and proceeded to call home. For a moment, he entertained the idea of using the phone in his room, but he knew that eavesdroppers were to anyone working here what produce was to rabbits. Necessary. That meant the cell phone, and he'd just have to hope the conversation wouldn't bleed over a third party line.   
  
Dawn picked up on the first ring, "Hello?"  
  
The din in Giles head was like an ice pick thrusting itself through his eyes, "Dawn? Is that you?"  
  
A girlish squeal screeched through Giles' brain, "GILES? Oh my God, this is so cool! Buffy is going to kill you-she's not here. Patrol," Dawn's voice screamed over the horrible cacophony.  
  
"Dawn -- What is that unholy noise?" He knew she'd say it was some band or other, but he'd never heard Dawn listening to anything quite like this before.  
  
"Um… Limp Bizkit," she shouted back, "Spike's friend let me borrow it. They're here too!"  
  
"He is? Ask him to turn it down, please!" Giles head pounded in agony, and the volume dropped dramatically, "That's better, but, Dawn, I know I'm going to regret this for the rest of my life, why one earth would anyone want to name a band after flaccid pastries?"  
  
Dawn broke into a fit of giggles then began screeching with laughter. Apparently, she'd found Giles so amusing, she dropped the phone.   
  
"What's got the Bit so amused?" Spike asked, and Giles cringed.  
  
"I'm not really sure, Spike, but could you tell Buffy I called? She's called several times today-tell her I'll be out for the afternoon. I've got some papers to retrieve, and then I'm sure I'll be stuck in meetings with Travers for the remainder of the day."  
  
"Sure thing, Rupes, it's late here--Slayer'll probably call you tomorrow anyway."  
  
"That's fine, just tell her not to call too early, and tell Dawn to stop that infernal caterwauling," they said their good-byes, and Giles hung up the phone. It was time to visit London.   
  
Outside the morgue, Giles waited to speak with the coroner who'd agreed to meet him at the hospital offices. He wasn't certain why the paperwork couldn't be mailed, but he assumed Travers wanted the work picked up personally, better to trust someone he knew over the post. The sharp clip of hard-soled shoes moved quickly toward Rupert Giles, and he looked anxiously down the hall hoping he could get his business done quickly.  
  
The coroner, a young man in his early thirties, sandy brown hair, even, clear features, with brown eyes hidden behind the thickest lenses Giles had ever seen said, "You're Mr. Giles, right? I've been expecting you...please come into my office where we can talk," the young man unlocked his office door then extended his hand, "I'm Thomas Bradshaw."  
  
"Did you do the autopsy, Mr. Bradshaw?"  
  
"Thomas, please," the coroner told the older man, "Sure did, and I'm sorry for your loss." The young man shook his head sadly, "You know, Sir Robert was very good to this hospital. I met him once....he was very kind."  
  
"Thank you," Giles replied, "I'm certain his wife will appreciate the condolences."  
  
"Well, down to business," Thomas pulled a file from his briefcase and invited Giles to sit, "It's my understanding that Sir Robert had heart problems?"  
  
"Yes, I believe he was diagnosed over a decade ago....his family tells me…, let me think now, it was in 1991? I'm sure that's right."  
  
The young Mr. Bradshaw smiled, "It's still a shock I'm sure. You know, people always tell us that knowing someone is ill gives you a chance to prepare, but I've never found that to be true with any of the families I've worked with. It's harder still when the person in question might have killed himself."  
  
"Pardon?" Giles couldn't have been more stunned had Thomas Bradshaw suddenly opened a portal to the nearest hell dimension and offered the watcher a milkshake.   
  
"I have to be frank with you, Mr. Giles, we found large amounts of Lanoxin in Sir Robert's blood stream. On the death certificate, you'll note that cause of death reads 'accidental overdose', but Quentin Travers made me aware of the fact that Sir Robert had a full-time nurse dispensing his medication. I suspect your friend was simply tired of fighting this illness, and that's not uncommon amongst those suffering."  
  
"I don't understand," stammered Giles, "Sir Robert was active and loved life; he wouldn't have killed himself!"  
  
"Then it must've been accident," Thomas sighed then joked, "or murder, and I just can't imagine why anyone would want to kill an ailing man in his seventies."  
  
Giles laughed, trying to make light of the statement, but the whisperings of a suspicion filled his mind, "Murder? No, of course not. Though I am curious, what exactly is Lanoxin supposed to do?"  
  
"It's one of the standard heart medications. Basically, a patient taking Lanoxin can expect to have a more regular heart beat, stronger, etc. An overdose, well, it's not an easy way to die, hallucinations, a more pronounced irregular heartbeat, vomiting, confusion, and death are the results if not treated. One of the drugs main components includes digitalis."  
  
Giles had never been an expert in pharmaceuticals, but digitalis was commonly used in medicine, and again he found himself suspicious. He'd have to get to back to the Council and check the security tapes. Putting the thought aside for a moment, he asked, "Is there anything else I should know?"  
  
"No, I just need you to sign these forms, and you can take the papers with you. Once again, I am sorry for your loss," Thomas Bradshaw smiled sympathetically and handed the file to Giles.   
  
As Rupert Giles left the office, he had the idea that his stay in England wasn't ending anytime soon, and he was certain Bradshaw had come closer to the truth than he realized. Rupert Giles simply knew that Sir Robert was murdered. 


	4. Wine And Violets

Disclaimer: The characters of 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions, Inc. No profit is being derived from the writing of this fanctiction.

Feedback: Please leave a review here or send emails to

Rating: PG-13 for some violence.

Chapter Three

"Wine and Violets"

Written by Jen

It had been three weeks since Rupert Giles had visited with the coroner in London, three weeks since his brief conversation with Dawn and Spike, and three weeks of viewing mindless security tapes that showed him exactly what he expected and least wanted-nothing. Unfortunately, the nothing was troubling. Since his arrival in England, Penelope Evesham-Hewes had made it her mission to entertain Giles almost every night, and he'd tried to beg off this evening in order to give her some time with her children and grandchildren. As much as he loved the dear lady, the Watcher couldn't see making a nuisance of himself when the family most obviously needed one another, but she'd hear none of it. Giles was to be at the house promptly for tea, no debates. He hadn't yet voiced any of his suspicions regarding Sir Robert's death, but he knew he'd have to sooner rather than later. Of course, it had been Penelope who agreed that something was amiss. She'd found the idea of an accidental overdose preposterous, and so she'd asked Giles to check into the matter though he doubted Penelope thought anything as ghoulish as murder was possible. Still, her appeal, coupled with the vague rumors Quentin told him of before leaving Sunnydale, was more than enough reason for Giles to be wary.   
  
Earlier in the week Philip Underwood, Quentin's personal lapdog and whipping boy, had come to see Giles. "Mr. Giles," his voice had been standoffish and oh so smug, "word has it you are running an investigation of sorts? It won't be necessary. It troubles Mr. Travers, and he is most concerned with the affect you could possibly have on Sir Robert's wife. This can't be good for her."  
  
Outraged, Giles had somehow managed to keep his temper in check, "Penelope is well aware of my findings. I'm doing this at her request, Philip, this has nothing to do with you and little to do with Quentin, though he's expressed no concern over the matter."  
  
"Yes, well, I see you're just as reasonable as when we last met in Sunnydale," the younger man had said snidely before slinking away from Giles. The idea that Philip, untried and untested as a Watcher and council member, thought he could bully Giles into dropping this matter was ludicrous.   
  
While Giles busied himself with investigating, Quentin Travers gathered his own forces of support for the coming months of discussions. Discussions that would decide the Council's next leader dominated most conversations these days. Of course, Travers made it clear to anyone who would listen why he was perfect for the job. 'Annoying prat,' thought Giles, 'I just hope he stops badgering me.' Giles also thought he might head to the nearest Catholic church and light a candle to pray, correction, he would beg that Philip would not accompany Quentin in the rise to power.   
  
Sighing and rubbing his overtired eyes, the Watcher decided he'd had enough for one day. It was time to stretch his legs, maybe converse with someone, and if he was lucky, find a decent dining companion. Just before Giles reached the main hall and staircase of the house, he heard voices arguing.  
  
A hissing whisper reached his ears first, "You're certain there's nothing?"  
  
"YES!" The other voice was decidedly nervous and shaken sounding, "I swear, there's nothing to find."  
  
Intrigued, Giles moved a little forward to hear better.  
  
"Keep your voice down, fool, if anything links this to us, do you know what will happen? I have no intention of taking the blame simply because--," at this point, the eavesdropping Watcher nearly tripped on nearby plant stand and was forced to catch himself on the closest wall, "What was that?"  
  
"I don't know," answered the second and more nervous of the conspirators. An all too strained silence developed, "maybe it came from one of the offices? Sound carries here."  
  
After a moment Giles heard, "True. Right then, I'd say we'd better make a showing of it downstairs?"   
  
"Wait! What about _him_?"  
  
"Leave _him_ to me. Once it's all done, well, you know what will happen, and do not _ever_ speak to me about this in the hallway again, you idiot." The voices began moving away from Giles who crept as quietly and quickly as possible, but he was moving much more slowly than the two people ahead of him. They were long gone when he rounded the corner.   
  
Aloud Giles asked himself, "What is going on here?"  
  
In answer, Lydia Chalmers who'd just exited her own office, replied, "I believe lunch, Mr. Giles," she smiled brightly, "Would you like to join me?"  
  
Surprised but relieved she didn't seem suspicious, Giles realized Lydia wasn't quite as unwelcome as she'd been when he arrived, "Thank you, sounds good."  
  
She rewarded him with another high voltage smile and the two descended the front stairs together.   
  
In the front hall, several juniors stood about chatting and gossiping office politics amongst one another. Cheryl, who was on the telephone, waved casually at both Lydia and Giles. Unhappily, with so many people milling about, Giles would have no chance to discern who the unknown speakers had been let alone to whom they'd been referring. Before heading to the dining room, Cheryl hung up the phone and called, "Mr. Giles! Sarah Giles called about thirty minutes ago. Sorry I didn't call upstairs, but she asked me not to bother you while you were working. Anyway, she'll be here day after tomorrow and wanted me to let you know."  
  
"It's quite all right. Are you positive she said _Sarah_ Giles? Little Sarah?" Confused Giles asked, "It's hard to believe she's even old enough to drive."  
  
"I'm sure she said Sarah Giles," was Cheryl's reply.  
  
"You don't keep in touch with your family, Mr. Giles?" Lydia wondered curiously.  
  
"Her father's been in Russia for two decades now, Ms. Chalmers, and I was so busy with my own studies when he was last in England. I'm afraid I've somewhat lost touch with the entire family. I send the girl gifts for her birthday every year, but it doesn't seem possible that Sarah would be old enough to gallivant across the continents alone. Is her father coming, Cheryl?"  
  
"No, not that she said anyway. Though last I heard it, she was studying here in England. Maybe she decided visiting her kin was a good idea," Giles found himself warmed by the head housekeeper's drawling accent, "Y'all will know more tomorrow I expect."   
  
Giles thanked the older woman before turning to the younger council member, "Well, what's good in the dining room these days? I remember eating the most wonderful mutton stew the last time I was here."  
  
"The new cook still makes mutton stew, but she won't until it gets colder. Plus, she's more modern in her approach to cooking which means many of us have suffered through many a plate of grilled fish and chicken simply because an inordinate number of the older men here are on low cholesterol and low salt diets, but most of them will dine early. The more flavorful food is often gone by one o'clock since many of them ignore medical advice.   
  
"You know," Lydia continued, "Sir Robert was one of those who never cared much for eating what his doctor said he should," she giggled a bit, "his last lunch was filet mignon, a twice baked potato, ambrosia salad and creme brule."  
  
"You're joking?"  
  
"No! Really, I sat with him that day along with Mr. Travers and Philip. In fact, we were talking about your slayer and all the past trouble she's caused. Sir Robert did love to hear of her antics," Lydia smiled fondly at the memory, "he was very good to me."  
  
"I'm not surprised. He was very good to everyone," Giles responded, "But now you've made me curious, how on earth did Buffy come to be the topic of conversation?"  
  
Lydia laughed, "Sir Robert decided it's time we moved forward in light of technology. He'd arranged to have all the Watcher's diaries cataloged and scanned into the computer-all except yours. It's been a point of contention in the ranks, but you've made it clear your privacy is yours to keep," she spoke freely and seemingly without guile, "I think most of the members would like to see you and Buffy gone. They claim she's a loose cannon. Roger Wyndhm-Price has done most of the pushing where this matter is concerned."  
  
"Wesley's father? I had no idea he wasn't supportive of Buffy or me."  
  
"You have to understand, Mr. Giles," Lydia confided, "the allowances made for you and her have become a sticking point. You see, no one wants to admit that the Slayer does any of this for any other reason than it's right. She's got money and power backing her, but she sees none of it, and I know for a fact that Sir Robert wanted that changed. Not everyone approves of the way slayers are used."  
  
"I'm sorry, but Sir Robert never mentioned any of this to me."  
  
"He didn't want you upset by the matter," Lydia certainly seemed to know a lot, "He told Mr. Travers quite plainly that no one was to hassle you or the girl needlessly. He was facing a lot of opposition simply by discussing the possibility of paying her a salary."  
  
"Why are you telling me all this?"  
  
"Honestly? Friendly concern," she kept her voice low even in the noisy dining room.  
  
"I suppose I should thank you for that much," Giles told her as he grinned, but she still appeared worried beneath her smile.  
  
The two took their seats and, in honor of Sir Robert, ordered the richest and most fattening dishes the menu had to offer. By the time he was finishing his cheesecake, and cursing every New York Jewish deli and Italian eatery in America for ever discovering the joys of cream cheese and sour cream, Rupert was certain he'd have to roll himself up the stairs. The meal made him realize how tired he was. Lydia had been kind, charming, sweet and very funny. She talked some about her first days with the Council and laughed at her own mistakes on her first assignment.   
  
All in all, Giles couldn't have asked for a better companion, and it seemed even Quentin Travers approved of the arrangement. The man had actually smiled warmly, almost affectionately, at the couple while he dined across the room. His dining companion appeared ill at ease, and Giles had to wonder what on earth Philip could be worrying over this time. That young man, tall, almost gangly, his large nose overbearing on his face, had to be the most ingratiating and irritating fool Watcher's Council ever had the displeasure of hiring. Still, Travers took stock in the young man who, for all outward appearances, seemed entirely devoted to Quentin and his causes.

Finally, meal ended, Lydia asked, "Are you still viewing the security tapes?" Her tone was light and soft.  
  
"Yes, as a matter of fact," this wasn't a topic Giles wanted to discuss.  
  
"If I might make a suggestion, access the sound files too, Mr. Giles, there's a digital camera system as well as video system. Only the digital security system is set up to pick up sounds."  
  
"No one told me there were two systems!"  
  
"I'm telling you now," Ms. Chalmers smiled brightly, "Those bumbling idiots in security won't always give a person information unless he knows to ask for it."  
  
Giles looked at her incredulously, "Thank you for the tip," and he meant it. Who knew the Council was taking so many precautions these days? In all their conversations, Travers had never mentioned the computerized system. That too was curious.   
  
"Mr. Giles, people talk. Frankly, I think everyone from Quentin to the housekeeping staff knows you must be looking for something. You've been with Sir Robert's family almost every night since you arrived, and all your days are spent viewing the tapes from the day he died and week prior. Take my advice, check the computers," with that the young woman rose from the table, "Thank you for a lovely lunch, but I really must run. I hope we'll do it again soon?"  
  
"Yes, yes, of course," Giles told her. Lydia smiled and left the table.  
  
Contemplating the woman's remarks about security, Giles failed to notice Nigel Daarsha approach, "So, Mr. Giles, how are you feeling today?"  
  
"Quite well, thank you," Giles didn't bother asking after the man's health. Nigel was simply an annoyance to avoid, but apparently the pesky weasel had other ideas.  
  
Narrowing his dark brown at eyes, Nigel asked in that gratingly over formal voice Giles loathed, "Is anyone sitting with you?"  
  
"I've had my lunch, thank you, you're more than welcome to the table," Giles moved to leave.  
  
"No, by all means, stay. How is the charming and effervescent Miss Summers these days?" It was apparent that Nigel did not find Buffy's effervescence charming.  
  
"She's quite well." Simple and short answers should shut the man up, Giles hoped.  
  
"Any news of Faith? Still in prison, one presumes," Nigel's irritating voice sandpapered across Giles nerves.  
  
"Yes, that's generally where people who confess to First Degree Murder stay."  
  
Laughing a polite and oh so false laugh, Nigel went fishing for information, "Ever get tired of being away from home, old man? Don't you miss England?"  
  
"Sunnydale is home, Nigel, and, no, I'm not looking at retirement at any point in the near future. You'll just have to wait for Faith to die to get your greedy little hands on a slayer." Angrily, the Watcher stood, spilling wine across the table onto Nigel's suit, and stormed from the room leaving the stunned Watcher-wannabe at a loss for a reply.  
  
Giles spent the rest of his afternoon getting some badly needed sleep before he drove out to Lavender Hall. Thank goodness for Penelope and the normalcy she had to offer the weary man.  
  
Penelope waited anxiously for Giles that evening. The storm outside rattled against the old manor, wind screeching, and the elderly woman would swear she could hear her husband's voice in it. When her butler showed Rupert into the drawing room, she felt herself relax, "Thank goodness! I was worried about your driving these roads in this ghastly weather."  
  
"Penelope," Giles hugged her, "you used to worry about us wandering around during the nicest weather."  
  
"I know, I know, but you children did get yourselves into some awful scrapes," she smiled, seeing the face of the boy she'd known so well in the man standing before her, "I've finally reviewed the records, Rupert, and I must ask because I can't stand thinking about it any longer. Did Robert kill himself or not? I know I asked you to look into it, but I have an awful feeling I know the answer." She cringed.  
  
"No, nothing could convince me of that." She saw the hesitation in her friend's eyes, "I'm afraid I have to look at other possibilities...   
  
"Did--," Giles asked as he removed his glasses and swiped a cloth over them, "Did Sir Robert have any enemies? Any at all?"  
  
Penelope's eyes widened, and she felt fear trickle through her marrow, "No! You can't think-- No! It's not possible, Rupert, who would've disliked him so much they'd want him dead?" Her voice sounded high and almost girlish in her own ears.  
  
"I'm not sure about anything yet, Penelope, but I have to go over every possibility, you see?"  
  
"Of course, but I can't imagine anyone hurting my husband. He was kind to everyone-even the juniors! They'd come for advice and none were turned away. Not once."  
  
Life was already so strange without Robert, but the thought that someone might have killed him left Penelope Evesham-Hewes terrified for the Council and herself. The rest of the evening was spent in stunned silence though Penelope insisted Giles take several old photographs with him.  
  
"I promise, I will find out what happened to him."  
  
"I know, dear, but how do I tell my children? My _grandchildren_? Giles if you're right, maybe none of us is safe." A note of cold fear rang between them. "It's...it's horrible mourning him like this, Rupert! But murder?" Penelope burst into fresh tears, and all Giles could do was help her to her room. He left after he was certain she'd be all right for the rest of the night.  
  
Giles returned to Council Headquarters and noted the electricity was still out due to the storm. "Damn," he swore loudly. He'd hoped to get a chance to view the computer systems tonight. Penelope had gone over every possibility: vampires, watchers, family, and everyone in between. No real answer presented itself, and all Giles had told her of the tapes he seen was that there was nothing to see on them. He had yet to explain to anyone why that alone was enough to scare the hell out of him. Until he could view the films on the computer, he was stuck simply speculating. That wasn't much help. Perhaps he'd try ringing Buffy again, but he was fairly certain that too wouldn't work. He had no desire to use Council phones, and his cell was sure to be out in this kind of weather. Rather than sit by the fire reading, Giles opted to search Sir Robert's office for a clue, anything, the slightest indication of what on earth had happened to the man.  
  
The hall was relatively dark though the safety lights did provide enough lighting for Giles to see the keyhole properly. Inside, the office was well cleaned and completely aired. No one would know it had been in disuse for nearly three weeks. A few papers were neatly placed across the top of the desk, but none of them held any promise. The old mahogany gleamed in the low light, and Giles had to admire the craftsmanship of the piece. Xander would've loved it. This was an office that was well loved, warmly kept, and furnished with tasteful English countryside oils. All the paintings captured daytime scenes, and each was artfully placed about the walls for maximum effect.   
  
On the desk, pictures of Sir Robert's family and friends presided almost regally. There were even a few photos of Giles. One showed three young boys, all dressed for Easter Sunday, arm in arm with large cookies in hand. Another, taken at Giles' university graduation, showed the face of a worn yet earnest boy who'd seen too much in his younger years. The most startling photo of Giles was taken just before he left England for America to meet Buffy Summers. His father had just passed away the previous year, and Sir Robert, who'd stepped in to help Giles through his grief, wasn't about to let "Young Rupert" get away without a snapshot or two. The man had turned to him and said quietly, "Your father was so proud of you. He told me many times." Those words often sustained the Watcher during his more difficult times with Buffy, and when Joyce passed away, those words came back to him to offer someone else comfort, "Your mother was so proud of you, Buffy, she often said she couldn't be more pleased with the way her girls were growing." It was odd how one person could touch a man's life with even the briefest reassurances.  
  
Giles sighed and resumed his search. If the damned lights would return, it would make his job so much easier! As he pulled the files from Sir Robert's desk, he decided to sit in one of the two leather wingback chairs near the fireplace. The candles he lit provided just enough light to read by. It seemed almost sacrilege to sit behind the dead man's workspace, and Giles simply felt more comfortable away from all those family photos. The old memories, sliding into focus, demanded to be sifted through, and, ultimately, put away on a shelf with a lifespan limited to his own mortality. Instead, he became engrossed in the files, and while the night sped toward morning, he realized how much honest respect Sir Robert did have for him and Buffy. Much of the paperwork had to do with old cases from Sunnydale, and Sir Robert's notes were often insightful as well as complimentary. Apparently the old man was quite impressed by Buffy Summers and her ability to think on her feet. The last file, still sealed, tempted Giles sorely, but he was so tired from his long day that he decided it might be best to simply go to bed. He could always save this one for morning when he was more alert.   
  
Just as he was leaving the office, a sound blow crashed into Giles' head, and he crumpled to the floor without a word.

"Rupert?" A voice, strangely ringing and familiar, invaded Giles' peace. "He's coming to, Lydia, bring the man some ice chips."  
  
Giles squinted at the harsh light, "I'd ask what happened, but I know someone hit me."  
  
"The cleaning staff found you outside Sir Robert's office," Quentin Travers shook his head, "What were you doing there last night?"  
  
"Research. Good Lord! I'm so thirsty," Giles groaned in pain, "Am in hospital?" His eyes refused to focus or Giles would've recognized his surroundings.  
  
"No, it was easier to treat you here. I'm just relieved I didn't have to notify the Slayer you'd been killed," Travers spoke quietly. "What sort of research have you been up to, man?"  
  
"Quentin, didn't you find the files I was working on last night? I must have dropped them outside the office."  
  
"Files? No, there was nothing, Rupert. Tell me what is going on," the older man demanded. "You've been evasive and avoided most of us for the better part at least two weeks; it's time to explain yourself."  
  
Giles studied the man and weighed his options. With the files gone, he was now certain someone had murdered the Council leader, but as of now, Quentin was the most likely suspect. He'd certainly benefit the most by the man's death since Travers was the most likely candidate for the job, but surely he'd know that. Carefully considering the consequences, the Watcher decided to take Quentin Travers into his confidence, "I was looking for clues, Quentin. Sir Robert didn't die of an accidental overdose, and it most certainly wasn't suicide. We both knew suicide was never a real possibility. Those files I mentioned? One was sealed, and now they're all gone. I can't find any evidence of foul play on the security tapes, but the complete lack of information is more disturbing than the presence of some information would be!"  
  
"Complete lack, what do you mean? My God, how could this happen?"  
  
"Good questions, both. I can at least answer the first. When I say there's nothing on the tapes, I mean nothing. I've got hours of tape filled with empty hallways throughout this entire building on the day of Sir Robert's death. There's nothing wrong with the cameras, Quentin, I've viewed tapes from the past six months-there is one day's tapes that's been compromised. Now, unless the entire staff went on holiday while he holed up in his office, something is very wrong indeed. It's got to be witchcraft."  
  
"It can't be! You know we've had wards in place against magic for centuries. Rupert, this is impossible."  
  
"Impossible or not, someone wanted Sir Robert dead and all the evidence covered, and now someone appears to want me dead." Giles refrained from sharing the whispered conversation he'd overhead in the hall. A little information might help while too much could get him killed for certain.   
  
A bright and cheery voice interrupted the two men, who fell silent, "Here we are, Mr. Giles, ice chips. How are you feeling? These came for you, along with a card from Sir Robert's wife." The young woman held up a planter filled with African violets.  
  
"I've had better days, Ms. Chalmers," he smiled ruefully at the young woman.  
  
"I'll be staying this evening to keep you company if that's all right," again she smiled, and Giles felt himself softening toward the young woman. He hated admitting it, but he was beginning to like her, "Perhaps I could read to you or we could play chess."  
  
"I think chess is a little too advanced for me now," the injured man said. "A book would be good though. One of the classics, perhaps?"  
  
"Good, it's settled," interrupted Quentin who looked fondly on Lydia. "Take care of him, Ms. Chalmers. Rupert, Elaine is expecting me early for dinner this evening, but I will be back tomorrow. We have much to discuss."  
  
"Yes, of course, it's much later than I expected," he murmured.  
  
Lydia spoke, "You've been unconscious most of the day. Oh! That reminds me, are you feeling hungry? The doctor was afraid you might be a bit nauseous since you do have a concussion. He said it's not too serious, Mr. Giles, and if you're feeling up to it, I could find something that might tempt you?"  
  
Giles blushed, thinking to himself that she was an awfully tempting treat, 'Oh, dear God,' he thought, 'I really must stay the hell away from Spike when I get back to Sunnydale. That creature is rubbing off on me.' Instead he replied, "Some soup might be good, thank you."  
  
Lydia left the room as Quentin said his good-byes, but Giles was concentrating more on her retreating figure. She really was a pretty young woman. The rest of the evening was quiet, almost homey, and Giles found he loved listening to Lydia Chalmers read. Her voice was animated and lively, and she was the sort of reader who enjoyed the telling of a tale as much as the tale itself. As Giles requested, she'd chosen a classic, but it wasn't one of the generally accepted and common English classics to his surprise. No Jane Austen or Charles Dickens for this young woman. Instead she chose literature that was serious, dark, and without the drawing room flair of centuries past: Franz Kafka's _The Trial_. Giles was enjoying every minute of it. Her voice lilted and danced through the story of a young man sent to trial for no apparent reason, and Giles could relate to the protagonist in many ways. While he wasn't facing any charges that no one would bother to name, he was facing his own tribulations in discovering Sir Robert's murderer. Like Joseph K., Rupert Giles felt this enormous urge to justify his own existence, his life, everything about himself and who he was, almost on a spiritual plane. Listening to the story made him feel as though he'd stepped through some metaphysical barrier, alone, bereft of everyone, denied explanations, denied information, and, above all, left to sink or swim on his own.   
  
Of course, he realized he was dabbling in a little self-absorption, but even he couldn't avoid that bad habit now and then. Still, Lydia's voice, charming and soft, her hair glinting beneath the reading lamp, her skin reflecting a golden rose color in the firelight, was far more mesmerizing than the plight of Joseph K. Her legs, tucked beneath her, were shapely, and her knees just peeked out from under her skirt. It was a beautiful sight. So much more enchanting than Quentin Travers' face-what an awful thing to wake up to after being clocked in the noggin.   
  
"Logic is doubtless unshakable," read Lydia, "but it cannot withstand a man who wants to go on living."  
  
Giles sighed and Lydia looked up from the book, "Yes?"  
  
"I disagree with that I think," the Watcher told her, "You know, logic isn't really as unshakable as people would presume."  
  
"No, of course not, but I think the point Kafka was making," she leaned forward setting the book on the little table near her chair, "was that this one man wants so desperately to live that he'll simply ignore logic to the point of driving himself insane if necessary, and the insane have a logic they use only known to them. Though I suspect most of us would be driven quite mad in Joseph's circumstances," she chuckled.  
  
"True, trials without charges and punishments without actual trials--Kafka's vision was an unforgiving one," Giles replied.  
  
The young woman nodded her agreement and looked at her watch, "Gracious! Look at the time." Lydia jumped from her chair, saying, "I've been reading almost three hours, Mr. Giles, and Mr. Travers will have my hide. He said you should get some rest."  
  
"Yes, I am getting a bit tired, and please, it's Giles or Rupert. Though I have to admit, I rarely hear Rupert anymore from anyone but Quentin or Penelope. Whichever you choose, and please never refer to me as G-man." He shuddered.  
  
"G-man?" she frowned, "No, I think I like Rupert best if you don't mind, and it's Lydia."  
  
"Thank you, Lydia, and thank you for reading tonight. I really do appreciate it-much better than watching telly."  
  
"You're very welcome, Rupert." Again she flashed that brilliant smile, "Get some rest."  
  
After she left, Giles said aloud, "If only I were ten years younger..." Light filtered through the window of the infirmary, and Giles wondered what on earth he'd ever done to deserve being placed beneath stained glass that faced the East. A riot of colors played across his arms and bed while it wreaked havoc with his already aching head. The doctor, a council employee, had long since left with strict instructions for Giles to get as much rest possible, enjoy some quiet activity, and refrain from leaving the grounds. Of course, he wasn't allowed to leave the medical wing without assistance. Giles understood the importance of caring for himself, but he didn't wish to be bothered with the mundane details of it all. Unfortunately for him, the attending nurse saw to it that Giles did stay put.   
  
When the physician left, Giles called downstairs to Cheryl and asked if he'd yet gotten word from Sunnydale. Her reply was no, but she'd ring for him if necessary. Almost a month and no word from Buffy, puzzling, he reflected. Giles toyed with the idea that Dawn wasn't giving her elder sister phone messages, but what on earth could drive the teenager to ignore simple courtesy? Perhaps the siblings were simply too caught up in their own world, or as was most likely, too caught up in petty arguments. The entire situation was frustrating as hell.  
  
By 8:00 am, Rupert Giles was ready to dig his way through the floorboards or simply give in and die of the boredom. A soft knock caught his attention, and the Watcher hoped it was Lydia. She was good company.   
  
The nurse, a young man of about twenty-six, welcomed a startlingly pretty young woman into the room. Her hair, the golden shade of summer wheat, was pulled back in a single braid. She had a heart shaped face, high cheekbones, a small and pert nose, and a generous mouth. Her eyes, hidden somewhat behind glasses, were similar in coloring to his own but a deeper shade of green. She had the air of a student. Her jeans were loose, and her forest green sweater was at least two sizes too big. All in all, the girl looked downright fragile in the outfit. Too small for the world around her despite the fact that she was blessed with the height Buffy often mourned not having. She spoke in low tones while nodding to the infirmary attendant. Finally, she walked toward Giles, and the familiarity hit him. This young woman looked like a copy of his mother. Giles remembered the worn old family photos, and the girl's resemblance was undeniable. She even had his mother's walk, smile and thoughtful eyes. Giles tried not to think about too much his mother because he did miss the woman. Sarah Giles had arrived, and Giles would've sworn she was his own child if he didn't know better.   
  
Born when he was already in his twenties, she was a late in life baby of his elder cousin. Giles remembered her christening. His mother, still alive, had made the christening gown, and his cousin, Stephen, had asked him to stand the place of godfather for little Sarah. She was a pretty baby, all round and dimpled. Giles remembered her smiling and laughing as she ran through the corridors of Council Headquarters once she'd grown some. After her sixth birthday, Stephen Giles was called away to watch after things at the Council's outpost in Russia. The family returned for visits at holidays, but Giles had been so busy working in the fields that he hadn't been around often to see her. Still, every birthday and Christmas he made a point of sending her something special that he'd found in his travels, and Sarah was one of those rare people who always wrote beautifully crafted and handwritten thank you notes in reply. It was all very formal and the product of being raised by stodgy people who were never really sure how to react to children. She was a part of his life he'd never shared with those in Sunnydale, and now he wondered why.   
  
She stopped at the edge of his narrow hospital supply bed and said, "Rupert? Hi, Dad said you were back in England and I should visit you. Should I come back later?"  
  
"No, please stay, Sarah. It's good to see you again after all these years," Giles spoke hesitantly, "How is your father?"  
  
"He's well but misses London. He and mum are thinking of coming home."  
  
"I'm sure that's good news for you since you're already here," Giles hated these tentative discussion between long forgotten family members, "And your mother?"  
  
"Oh, she's aces. Tired of arguing with me I expect," Sarah continued, "So what happened?"  
  
"A silly accident that resulted in a fall and concussion. Would you mind doing me a huge favor?"  
  
"Um..sure I guess, what is it?"  
  
"Well, I can't leave the infirmary unless someone is willing to spring me. Quentin won't be able to get up here for another hour or two, and that nurse over there, an employee borrowed from hell no doubt, is too strict for my own good. Would you mind?"  
  
Sarah grinned easily at him, "No problem, we're out of here. I hate hospitals and medical facilities in general." Her demeanor had loosened up now. "Hey, what do you want today?"  
  
"Take it easy I suppose, but I'd love to know why you're here first. I mean, you haven't seen me in years, Sarah."  
  
"Can we talk about it later?" Her tone was irritated and sounded a little like Buffy's when she wanted to avoid distressing circumstances.  
  
"Certainly, why don't we get out of here and make some plans?"  
  
Sarah relaxed, and Giles got up so he could get dressed in the lavatory while she waited. This wasn't just about some young woman who was paying her respects to visiting family because her father had ordered it, and Giles couldn't help but recall that the young woman had stiffened further when talking about her parents. 


	5. Happenings in the Hedge Maze

Disclaimer: The characters of 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer" are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions Inc. No copyright infringement is intended, nor is any financial gain being made from the writing and posting of this fanfiction.

Rating: PG-13

Author's Note: My apologies for not updating sooner-wacky life has gotten in the way of writing. This is a somewhat short chapter, but it's also a transitional chapter with much confusion for poor Giles. In the last chapter, Giles had been knocked out (poor guy never gets a break), wakes up in the Council infirmary, lusts after Lydia Chalmers, and meets his young cousin for the first time in several years. This portion picks up with Giles and Sarah.

Chapter 4

Happenings in the Hedge Maze

Written by Jen

On the vast grounds owned by The Council, a three hundred-year-old hedge maze presided regally over four acres of the property. It was, quite possibly, the most intricately planned and difficult to navigate hedge maze in all of England, and it was never open to the public. Very few people were privy to the knowledge of its' existence outside the Council, but many a historical society would've given boatloads of gold for the chance to see even a fraction of it.

As a boy, Rupert Giles spent much of his time memorizing all the twists and turns, enjoying the different sitting areas, and playing hide and seek with his friends in the small alcoves. Dispersed throughout the maze were several small flower gardens, statuary and bird baths, all perfectly fitting and suited to the general idea of a classic English garden, but the center of the maze, and highlight, was a completely unexpected scene that Giles had adored as a young child. A miniature replica of Rikugien, a Japanese park built around 1700, stood perfectly scaled and absolutely accurate. The name meant six poems garden, and there were times when Giles dreamed of visiting the real garden, walking the beautifully landscaped trails, and visiting the teahouses. In one of the old journals a passage had been written by a fallen Slayer in which she mentioned how much she missed spending time in Rikugien at night; patrolling the Watcher assumed. As a boy, Giles had often commanded many an army to march through those tiny, yet majestic, pavilions while his father sat on a nearby wrought iron bench writing reports or reading one of his favorite classic novels, the same bench Giles and Sarah now shared.

A small bronze plaque explained the presence of the Japanese miniatures, "Kekeo, Daughter first, Slayer Second, Beloved always. 1932-1949" Kekeo was a formidable Slayer in her time, but even Slayers are susceptible to illness, and the girl had died during a dysentery outbreak after tracking a particularly vicious vampire, Lucinda, through India. The vampire's sole purpose in death was turning children. All of her victims had been aged between five and nine, and Kekeo had been forced to slay dozens of the monstrosities before finally destroying their creator. Giles recalled reading that not one vampire had mourned the loss of that vile creature because most felt that trapping a demon in the body of a child was akin to sacrilege. Unfortunately, the poor Slayer had fallen ill before she'd even had a chance to celebrate her victory. The Watchers tried every remedy known to no avail and Kekeo's grief stricken parents had insisted on the astonishingly lovely memorial for their daughter. Their eldest son ended up a Watcher, and now his descendants continued to serve the Council. Giles supposed that Dawn Summers would eventually be pressed upon to join their ranks as well, and he dreaded her elder sister's reaction. Truthfully, he was fairly certain his own reaction would be quite negative. _Quite_.

Sarah broke the silence first. "Someday I want to see Japan. You know, I've never been this far in the maze. It's beautiful, but was the memorial built entirely by human means?"

Giles chuckled, "No, of course not. In order to maintain an accurate portrayal of Rikugien, magic was used. If you spend enough time here, you'll notice subtle changes, which emulate the actual park. One year, our autumn was exceptionally warm, and while the surrounding trees and grounds were still perfectly green, this little miracle was a riot of vibrant reds and yellows. Some of these plants couldn't be found in miniature, but with the aid of magic, you've got a perfectly rendered scene, and the cherry blossoms in spring are quite beautiful. It's a marvel."

"I wondered," Sarah continued, "if I could ever learn magic like this. To be able to create something so lovely and full of meaning..." For a moment the girl looked very sad to Giles, and he wondered again why she was there.

"Magic isn't taught, Sarah, it's a gift which we all have to one degree or another. There are simple spells anyone can perform, but the spells used to create this are...well, they're only performed by those most gifted in the dark arts. Do you wish to study with the mages?"

Sarah laughed and shook her head, "No, it's nice to dream about, but what I want to do with my life isn't precisely what Father envisioned. Still, duty and all, I suppose it would make Dad happy, along with the Council of Wankers!"

The Watcher startled to hear his soft spoken and gracious cousin speak so vehemently against the Council, and to hear the girl use Spike's favorite insult for the Watchers was a little annoying. "Council of Wankers? Where did you hear that?"

"Oh please, Rupert, a four year old could've easily come up with that insult given the inclination and appropriate vocabulary. You should've seen poor old Dad's face when I yelled it at him last month. Priceless," the young woman said grinning ear to ear.

Rather than explain his dislike of the phrase, Giles changed the subject. "I gather you'd rather not work here, Sarah?"

"I want to study in America," she replied, "and live in Japan eventually."

"Really?"

"Yes, I've never wanted anything more than to study at MIT and design video games. Computers have always been my talent, and I love games. Konami, the company that makes some of my favorites, is a Japanese company. I'm good with languages. It's not like I'd be out of sorts since Father's had me studying Japanese, along with French, Norwegian, and German since I was about three years old. There's never been a time when I wasn't studying something," the young woman said bitterly. "You'd think it might be okay to have a childhood in all that, but you know my dad. Any play makes a happy child, can't have that."

Giles frowned, surely her homelife couldn't have been that bad? "Would you like me to speak with Stephen?"

"That would be great! Actually, that's kind of why I came," Sarah smiled brightly and added, "I just didn't want to talk about it inside the 'Hallowed Halls'."

"Yes, I was beginning to suspect as much," Giles returned his young cousin's smile before continuing, "You're good with computers then?" He couldn't help but wonder if it was a bad idea to enlist this girl's help, but Giles felt he had no other options at the moment, "Sarah, I have a bit of a project, but this discussion cannot go any further."

"Would Dad approve?"

"No, I daresay."

"I'm in!"

Giles unsuccessfully tried to frown at the girl, but he couldn't help laughing instead. As best he could, he explained his problem with the computers and security tapes, and he watched the young woman listen intently. Without going into too much detail about Sir Robert's death, the Watcher managed to enlist the girl's help. In many ways, she reminded him of Buffy with her passionate nature, but listening to her speak made him realize this young woman was brilliant in a way that not even Willow could match. Her computer skills, from what he gathered, could only be described as phenomenal, and Giles barely understood a word she was saying to him. Still, he was grateful to have one new ally in a world where he was completely uncertain who to trust.

"I'm not sure how much help I can be if magic was used, but I can at least try," she said.

Pushing his luck, the Watcher asked hesitantly, "Do you know much about Mr. Nigel Daarsha?"

"Only that he's a prat, why?"

"Nothing really, he's just been a bit unpleasant," Giles replied.

Sarah sighed before replying, "Um...well, I'm not supposed to know this, technically speaking. After you were sacked, old Travers wanted to send that sneaky little toad to America, but Wesley Wyndham-Price got the job. You know how well that turned out. Anyway, when your Slayer quit the Council, Dad said Nigel was furious!" Sarah paused for a moment, "I guess he had his bags packed and everything since Wesley had been terminated as well, so Nigel was really jealous of you. He was also very angry that a Slayer would dare choose her personal ties to a Watcher over her duties to the Council."

Giles eyed the girl thoughtfully, "How did you discover this information?"

"I read my father's journals and letters. It's the only way to survive the secrecy in families like ours," she said, shrugging.

"Too true."

"So," Sarah demanded, "tell me about Buffy Summers."

Giles laughed heartily, pondering what tales to share before settling on his happiest memories of Buffy and her friends; memories that included Joyce, celebrations, amusing spells gone awry, and his Slayer at her most content. As he made his cousin laugh at his tales, Giles felt a warmth for the girl sitting next to him. Though in her twenties, she seemed far too young to be forced into making a decision to spend the rest of her life studying demons. He hoped he could reason with Stephen, make the man see that not all are meant to be a part of the Council. Finally, Giles checked the time and stated, "Oh dear, we've been out here for hours! Surely you're hungry, Sarah?"

"Starving! Do you want to eat here or escape the dreariness? I won't tell the doctor if you don't," Sarah smirked mischievously.

As they discussed their options, Giles and Sarah began the long walk back through the maze, and just when they'd decided to drive into London for an evening out, a scream shattered the peace and comfortable rapport.

Giles ran toward the screams, navigating the maze with ease, as Sarah paced herself behind him. When they finally reached a small alcove, the Watcher saw Lydia Chalmers fallen to her knees, her cries for help still echoing all around. A body lay at her feet.

"Dear lord!" Giles could see the back of a man's head smashed to pulp, blood and gore steeping into the surrounding ground. White as cream, Lydia looked up and began crying; Giles could hear his cousin gasping for air behind him.

"Rupert, thank goodness!" Lydia reached for his outstretched hand, and he pulled her to her feet.

"What's happened?"

"It's Adam Penderson," Lydia responded, her voice shrill and shaking, "he was coming to see you."

"Adam? Oh God, no! Sarah, would you please get to Quentin Travers' office as quickly as possible. Tell him I need to see him in the maze, and tell him to be discreet." Giles then added a simple rhyme, "I am lost and need be found, take me out from mazed grounds," and brilliantly lit arrows appeared to show the girl the way. Her eyes held astonishment, but she didn't waste time to comment and ran for the exit.

"Lydia, did you see anyone?"

"Not a soul," she said.

"What were you doing out here?" Giles tried not to sound distrusting.

"I came to bring you this," she replied, holding out a file folder with a few loose sheets of paper protruding from the edges.

"Do you know why Adam was coming out here?" All Giles could assume was that the head of security had thought of something regarding the many tapes he'd let Giles peruse.

Lydia's eyes darted about before she answered, "He didn't tell me everything, Rupert, but he did say that he might know of a way to undo the magic on the tapes. He rushed out of the security office so fast I didn't have time to question him further, and then as I was walking by your rooms, I found this file and decided to bring them. I couldn't have been more than ten minutes behind Penderson."

"What were you doing in security?"

"Looking for you," the woman responded, "I wondered if you and your cousin might have dinner with me, and I thought perhaps you'd ignored the doctor's orders and gone on to work again."

"I see," Giles said quietly. He wasn't sure if he believed her, but it would probably be better to withhold his skepticism until further notice. "I've been with Sarah all day...this is going to kill Penelope, another death so soon after Sir Robert's. I can't imagine how Quentin will break the news to the Penderson family." Surveying the area, Giles checked for clues and found a tiny slip of paper in Adam Penderson's left hand. It had been torn and the writing was half smeared, but Giles could just make out the word "ask" and the letters a, y, n or possibly m, what might have been another a or e. He wondered what on earth it could've possibly meant, but it was obviously important enough for Adam to scribble down before leaving his the security room. Perhaps it was a person's name, but it could've just as easily been the name of a demon or oracle. Giles also wondered if the killer was still around, but he couldn't risk leaving Lydia alone on the off chance she was at risk as well. His mind was a confused cauldron of theories and possibilities, but he had no real leads. He only hoped that Sarah and Quentin wouldn't dawdle.

When the faint sound of a motor trundled toward them, Giles couldn't have been more relieved to see Quentin Travers and Sarah Giles approaching the scene in a small golf cart. Obviously Quentin had no desire to run a good portion of the maze, so much the better.

"Rupert, you're sure he's dead?" Quentin asked.

"Take a look for yourself," Giles said as he pointed to the body of Adam Penderson, and he had to admit he took perverse pleasure in seeing Travers flinch as he surveyed the brutal killing in front of him.

"The wards have not been breached, Rupert, I think we must assume the worst. Lydia, I'm told you found the body," Travers directed the conversation at the young Council member.

"Yes, Uncle," Lydia replied with a detached and casual familiarity directed at Travers, and Rupert Giles nearly leapt from his skin. Quentin Travers was Lydia's uncle? His mind scrambled to remember if either Travers or Lydia had shared this information in the past. Obviously, she was the daughter of Quentin's sister, Linda, but Giles honestly didn't recall ever meeting the woman's husband or child in the past. He did remember hearing of Linda Travers' marriage when he was a child, but since it wasn't held on in the Council chapel, Giles suspected that many of the details had been hushed all those years ago. Come to think of it, Giles was fairly certain that Quentin had never once talked about his sister or her family. In fact, Giles was sure the siblings had been estranged since her marriage though he would never ask why, and he was bright enough to realize it probably had a lot to do with her dislike of the Watchers program in general. Giles' father had mentioned it a time or two when Giles began his training in earnest. He didn't ever recall hearing of a child.

Quentin frowned at the woman before continuing, and Rupert realized that was information the older man didn't want widely known. "Miss Chalmers, I am going to assume you are unhurt? If so, it's time to notify the appropriate parties, and Rupert? Continue with your investigation as planned. Sir Robert's wife must be notified at once, and I am sorry to say that your suspicious regarding his death are not unfounded." The lines around Travers' eyes appeared deeper, more tightly drawn, and Giles wondered how long it would take before the strange chill twining through his intestines would cease. He now had tapes he couldn't use, a note he couldn't decipher and the added burden of another reason to be suspicious of both Lydia Chalmers and her...uncle. Thankfully, he felt he could rely on Sarah Giles, who was standing behind Quentin, and the look on her face was quite easy to read, 'You've got some explaining to do, Rupert.'

As testimony to the Council's efficiency, Adam Penderson's body was removed quickly and without fanfare. Giles overheard Travers inform some of the elder members that, for the time being, no one was to think anything more than a serious and extremely tragic accident had occurred. Unbeknownst to all but Travers of them, Rupert Giles had been given free reign to take his investigation where needed. What he needed most was to discover the meaning of Adam's note.

Ignoring his doctor's orders, Giles decided it was past time to get a good hard look at the computer systems again. Sarah readily jumped at the chance. As for Lydia, she was horrified to hear that Sir Robert's death wasn't natural, but Giles hesitated trusting the woman. He liked her, no doubt, but he couldn't let lust or emotions control his actions, and he was aware that he must not let her know his suspicions had been aroused. The files she'd given him were indeed the missing files from the previous night; they had been opened, and most of the contents appeared to have been removed. Whatever this had to do with Sunnydale and Buffy was still an unknown, the x factor in an equation that Giles couldn't quite see. In truth, he needed someone extraordinarily gifted in magic, and if Penderson was killed for knowing of someone able to help, then Giles also believed he was responsible for the man's death in part. Giles shuddered thinking about the only person he knew fit for this kind of magical work, aside from Willow. However, Ethan Rayne had been incarcerated by the Initiative for the last year or so.

Perhaps the coven in Devon could help him.


	6. Roses And Revelations

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Disclaimer: The characters of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions Inc. No monetary profits are being derived from the writing and distribution of this fanfiction-which of course is our quaint way of saying "Please don't sue us."

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Rating: PG

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Author's Note: Thanks to all for reviews, and to Linne for being the Red Pen Goddess. In answer to Merrin's question, I felt that centering the piece around Giles gives the reader a more limited perspective which is actually the desired intent. Plus, Giles is a thinker, and introspective, so his head is an excellent place to be. In the classic drawing room mystery, most of what happens focuses around the investigator and sometimes one or two of the other main characters. Since Phil asked me to write a novella length work, I also felt it was more important to stay focused on the main character of the piece, and I do want the "villain" to be a surprise. Next chapter, expect to see more of Lydia, Nigel, and Philip along with someone you might not have expected at all.

As for Penhaligon's, it is a real shop (there are several now including two in the US) that has been around a long time, is truly favored by royalty and Winston Churchill did like one of the aftershaves made by the company. I fudged a little on the release dates of one of the fragrances, but the name of it screamed, "Buffy," and I couldn't resist.

Please note, if any of the details seem off or even too familiar, this is a companion piece to Shades of Grey that does include some information from that story.

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Chapter Five

Roses and Revelations

Written by Jen

Necessity had driven Rupert Giles to use a computer, and thanks to his young cousin, the Watcher was discovering that e-mail and sending files wasn't nearly so exotic as it sounded. While neither Buffy nor Dawn possessed a computer due to their current finances, Giles assumed anything he sent to Tara Maclay would be shared with Buffy if requested. Thankfully, Tara had forced her student e-mail address on him long before he even stepped on the plane to leave Sunnydale. Since Giles wasn't on good terms with Willow, taking Tara's e-mail address had seemed for the best. He felt an overwhelming sense of respect for the young woman who, as far as he was concerned, had braved far worse demons because they were so personal.

Unsure of what to write, Rupert stopped and stared at the over-bright screen, finally deciding to take the plunge.

_Dear Tara,_

I am sorry to inconvenience you, but I find myself at a bit of loss because I have not yet heard from Buffy. Would you please ask her to call me on the cell phone? Remind her that discretion is imperative considering my whereabouts. Better yet, you could give her a copy of the letter. Perhaps such reminders would come better from me, and it should save you the trouble of Buffy's less gentle moods.

Should anyone ask, all goes well in England, but I will probably be delayed longer than expected. Do let Anya know I have greatly appreciated her faxes concerning The Magic Box; I trust her with the finances, and it really isn't necessary to fax weekly copies of the books. Though it is extraordinarily considerate of her.

Also, would you mind speaking to Anya and Xander about a more personal matter since I desire Anya's aid and Xander's compliance. Anya will see to it Xander refrains from causing himself pain. In the top left drawer of my desk at The Magic Box, there should be a box of chocolates that were meant as a gift for you and Willow, a small thank you for helping inventory the shop. I apologize for not giving them to you before I left; distraction is not a state I wear well at all, and I felt a gift meant for both of you would be inappropriate given your current living situation. I am so sorry that I could not have been of more help to you in that matter, Tara. I'm assuming Xander has eaten the candy already and it's of little consequence, but please let Anya know he will probably get quite ill if he hasn't yet found the truffles. They're spoilt by now, and I know the boy rummages through my desk for treats when he believes no one will notice. Still, a pound of prevention is worth an ounce of cure.

That having been said, expect a package in the next few days. I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of sending it directly to your post office box rather than the house. Living with Buffy and Dawn means dealing with Dawn's less flattering characteristics. I am well aware that Dawn Summers is a teenager and apt to get into things that simply do not belong to her. Do let me know whether or not you receive your gift and if it pleases you. I had Willow's sent to her parents' home rather than ask you to deliver it. Willow is still someone I care for greatly, but as we both know, she must be willing to accept the fact that she needs help. Please forgive me for mentioning such painful memories, and do take care, Tara. I think highly of you as does everyone who knows you.

Before I forget, you can let Dawn know that I have not forgotten her should she notice your gift, but she shall have to wait for hers along with the others.

Your friend,  
Rupert Giles 

Giles turned off the computer and rose from his chair to stretch. Truthfully, he would always prefer a handwritten letter over anything typed, but as Sarah said, e-mail was much faster. Even if Tara didn't check her mail for a few days, she would certainly get the letter by the time his package arrived. He'd been at loss to find an adequate thank you for either of the witches that didn't involve magic when his cousin volunteered to help him choose something. She'd asked questions about both women and finally, after Giles said he knew both women were unlikely to ever consider pampering themselves, Sarah had quickly clapped her hands and squealed, "I've got the perfect idea! Hurry up so we can get there before the shop closes!"

With that, the two of them headed into London where Giles found himself being dragged through Penhaligon's at Covent Garden near the Royal Opera House. It had been years since he'd been in one of the establishments, but he remembered fondly that his mother had also been a fan of their products.

Finally, Sarah had asked the question he didn't want to answer, "Why not something magical, Rupert? You did say they're witches."

"Fair question. I wanted to give them something that didn't say I'd taken the easy way out of gift giving and opted for magics yet again, Sarah. It's a bit of an apology too, forgetting the chocolates and all that," Giles grinned sheepishly as he replied, refraining from delving into Willow's history abusing magic. Truthfully, he also hoped sending Willow something might help to smooth over the rough patches their friendship had suffered. He'd chosen the Bluebell soaps, lotion and eau de toilette for Tara because she, like the fragrance, made him think of English springs. It was a clean fragrance, almost rain drenched and with the light floral scent of the bluebell flower, perfectly captured. For Willow, Giles chose a spicier, citrus scent called Quercus that reminded him of her flaming hair and, at times, biting wit. It was probably far more sophisticated than the girl had ever used, but Willow had changed from the shy little mouse she'd been when he'd met her. He hoped she enjoyed the presents.

"Which do you like, Sarah?" Giles asked.

Sarah paused for a moment before speaking, "Hmmm, I always liked the Violetta fragrance when I was young, but it's a bit too sweet for me now. I think I like the Cornubia best."

Giles asked the shopkeeper to add a bottle of the perfume to his purchases and then said to his cousin, "My gratitude for helping. You know, I should probably get a little something for everyone while I'm here. It's much easier to get it all over and done with at once, and I suppose Dawn will kill me if I return home empty-handed." The clerk, eyes alight with the promise of more sales, asked what else Giles would like to see.

"You say the Violetta is sweet, Sarah?"

"Yes, but it's a soft fragrance, Rupert, if you're thinking of the younger girl."

"Exactly, it will be perfect for Dawn! And Buffy..." he looked about the store before a bottle caught his eye then continued, "I wonder..."

"Well, sir," the clerk interrupted, "you can sample all the scents. I'm sure we'll find something suited to your friend's tastes."

Just as she said it, Giles was reading the label on the bottle he'd noticed. It read, "Subtle with hints of nectarine, jasmine, precious woods and amber," but it was really the name of the perfume that caught Giles' attention. It was a newly released fragrance making it likely that Buffy would be unfamiliar with the product if she'd even heard of Penhaligon's. Artemisia. Named for Artemis, the goddess of the hunt and moon, and Giles felt it would be simply perfect. He was fairly certain the Slayer hadn't taken the time to even look at new clothes of late, let alone lotions or perfumes.

After choosing a traditional shaving kit for Xander, including foaming bar and brush, he'd picked two bottles of Elizabethan rose, one for Anya and one for Sir Robert's wife, Penelope. He whimpered a bit as the shopkeeper added up the purchases but reminded himself that he so rarely spoiled anyone it was well past time. In a moment of what he would deem weakness much later, he also decided he should find a way to thank Spike for taking care of Dawn so often and added yet another bottle, a favorite aftershave of Winston Churchill's, to his purchases. He even bought some for himself.

Minus several hundred pounds, Giles strained under the weight of parcels as he and Sarah returned to her car, but he did feel a bit better having picked out gifts for his loved ones back home, even it meant dipping into his reserves. Gifts posted to Willow and Tara, Sarah had treated him to dinner before returning him to the dreariness of the Council. All in all, his afternoon had been pleasant, Giles thought, contemplating the day. When his cell phone rang, he jumped in a rush to answer, hoping it was finally Buffy calling.

"Hello, Buffy?" A silence filled the phone, quiet and deadly, and Giles would have sworn he could hear a low, skittering noise. "Is someone there?" he demanded.

From what sounded like chasms of distance a voice, chillingly familiar and alien, desperate and pleading, hissed into his ear, "It's a new game now, old friend."

The call ended, and Giles sank into an armchair, cold sweat beading his arms. Quickly checking the call logs, the Watcher stared at name and number on his screen, "The Abyss 00000000000". When a loud knock rapped against his door, the Watcher jumped.

...

"Mr. Giles, may I please come in?" Lydia Chalmers asked. "I think you've avoided me long enough."

Anger crept through Rupert Giles, but he did move aside and invite the young woman to sit down despite his reservations. Rather than dance around the issue, Giles asked bluntly, "When were you planning on telling me Quentin is your uncle? He tells me I'll have to discuss this with you, so we might as well get it out of the way, Miss Chalmers." Giles knew his voice was cold and bitter, and he felt the tiniest pang of guilt at seeing the young woman before him flinch, hurt lurking in her eyes.

"I do owe you an explanation, I know," Lydia answered softly. "Do you remember Quentin's sister?"

Giles nodded in response and said, "She distanced herself from the Council decades ago."

"Four decades to be precise. You would've been very young at the time, and I wasn't even born. In fact, Mother hadn't married yet, but when she met my father, Shelby Jameson Chalmers, Mum swore to herself that Father would never know about her family or former life. Dad isn't a bad man, Rupert. He is very kind, in fact, but Mum was terrified he wouldn't be able to cope with the truth about the world around him. Anyway, when I finally had the chance to meet my uncle, it was only because of an incident in school." Lydia paused, apparently lost in her past.

"What happened?" encouraged Giles.

Looking out the window, into the night sky, Lydia said, "I was attacked by a vampire. Of course, no one at the school would believe me, and I was sent home to recuperate. University officials told my parents I was in crisis because my obvious fabrications were so very fanciful... The police claimed it was a sexual assault gone wrong, but I knew what I'd seen. Needless to say, Mum knew the truth, and she was forced into telling Father far more about this world than he ever wanted to know." The young woman stopped again, long enough to unbutton the top buttons of her blouse and pull her collar aside. Vicious scars marred the pale flesh at her throat. Continuing she said, "The only person my mother felt capable of helping me was her brother, and Uncle Quentin believed it was in my best interest to get therapy here. He listened to me... When no other soul would hear me out, he heard what I was saying. By the time I was able to face the world again, Quentin had discovered I was a talented researcher as well as gifted in minor magics, and he asked me to join the Council. Mum was furious that I did, but Dad has been very supportive and is quite proud of me. In the interest of keeping things professional, I normally refer to him as Mr. Travers at work, and he felt that was best. No one accuses him of nepotism, and whatever promotions and commendations I get, I've earned."

"Does everyone in the Council know you're related?" Giles hoped so. It would mean that Lydia had not been dishonest on purpose, she'd simply assumed he knew she and Quentin were family.

"Our collective superiors do, but our family ties have never been openly discussed. You must understand, Mr. Giles...Rupert..." Lydia whispered his name, commanding more attention than if she'd shouted. "When Mr. Wyndham-Price's son failed so miserably in Sunnydale, my uncle felt it best that he and I succeed or fail as individuals. Things are quite different outside these offices, I assure you."

Giles smiled, relieved, but he felt he owed Lydia an apology for thinking the worst of her. "I'm sorry...I shouldn't have assumed you were being dishonest with me-"

"Hush, don't worry about it. Uncle reminded me to tell you when he realized how much time we'd been spending together, and I forgot. It's really my fault-Quentin warned me that to make a friend of Rupert Giles one had to be honest. Now that we've got this out of the way, I've come to avail myself, and Mr. Travers," Lydia said, stressing she was back in full Council mode, "has assured me you shall have his complete cooperation. He's assigned Philip and me to assist you in every way possible. Philip will be here first thing tomorrow morning. What would you have me do?"

Staring openly at the young woman, blouse still slightly undone, Giles couldn't help the growing attraction as he thought to himself, 'What would I have her do? Oh gods! What a question that is!'

Aloud he said, "This is what I know so far," and he hoped he was making the right decision in confiding in both her and Quentin Travers. For her part, Lydia took copious notes, listened intently and puzzled over the scrap of paper found in Adam Penderson's dead hand. As they worked into the night, Giles slowly began to realize that Lydia was far more adept at theorizing and basic magic than he'd initially thought. While she too was intrigued by the various security tapes and possible spells used, she kept going back to the mysterious note and even more mysterious conversation Giles had heard in the hall the day he'd been thumped across the head. Then there were the files, taken, purged, and returned. Who would go to such trouble she had asked of Giles, but he felt just as flummoxed as before. When his bedroom phone rang, Giles remembered he'd completely neglected to tell Lydia about his earlier call. If it was the same person, she would be able to hear the strange caller herself, and if it was Buffy or Sarah, Giles would simply be relieved.

"Hello, Rupert Giles speaking," he said into the little phone he hated so much.

"Rupert! You're home, great!" Sarah yelled into his ear. "Guess what? I've done it! I'm coming out first thing tomorrow morning, screw class, this is more important. Just wait till you see what I've got off those discs you gave me-"

"Sarah? Calm down and speak slowly," Giles begged. The girl was jabbering away like she'd never speak again if she bothered to breathe.

"Calm down! Are you mad! Listen to this first and then tell me to be calm," the girl laughed with obvious glee over her discovery before continuing, "We cleaned up the disks...well, I did most of the work, but Dual helped." Dual was Sarah's boyfriend, and Giles wondered how on earth the boy had acquired the nickname.

"Cleaned them? You can see someone?" excitement filled the Watcher's voice.

"Yes and no," Sarah's voice sobered a bit, "we can see everyone in the halls now-except the person who enters Sir Robert's office shortly after his nurse. Giles, the door opens, closes, and about ten minutes later opens and closes again. Right next to Sir Robert's office, you see that potted palm in the hall totter away on the stand. Just as she said, the nurse dropped off the lunch and medications and left about shortly after she entered! This means someone had several minutes alone with Sir Robert, but we can't see the bastard yet."

"But it's enough evidence to show, without any doubts, that Sir Robert was indeed murdered." Lydia looked at Giles curiously and he nodded, hoping she understood that he'd explain in a moment.

"Absolutely," Sarah replied, "and it means you were right, my dear Cousin Sherlock! The wards were down, and whoever did this lovely bit of magic knew enough to make it look as though the wards were working."

"You're an angel, Sarah, a real lifesaver here! Bring Dual out tomorrow as well, and I'll treat you both to lunch. We'll make a double-date of it! Oh and Sarah? Remember to use call the cell phone from now on, dear, safer that way I think." Giles wished his cousin goodnight and smiled broadly at Lydia.

"Would you like to have lunch with Sarah and me tomorrow?" he asked her.

Lydia blushed and answered, "Yes, that would be lovely." After that, it occurred to Giles he'd said "double-date".

...

RIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGG! RRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGG!

The noise wouldn't stop, despite Giles' resolve to slip deeper back into sleep. Gods no, he thought, it was the phone-again. He sat bolt upright wondering if it was his damned mystery caller this time. Fumbling for his cell phone, the Watcher cursed and swore as he slammed his elbow painfully into the heavy brass lamp on his nightstand. This had better be worth the effort, he thought ruefully.

"Hello?" Giles growled into the phone.

"Giles?" asked the one person he'd been hoping to hear from for what seemed years! Of course, Buffy Summers would choose the middle of the bloody night to call England, but it was wonderful to hear her voice.

"Yes, Buffy, it's me," he answered.

"Did I wake you? Cause, I thought it was seven am there, and Tara said she thought it was more like two am, and I'm really sorry for waking you. But Tara said I should call your cell-hey! When did you start leaving it on all the time?" the Slayer asked, her random thoughts practically ping ponging themselves through Giles' brain, almost at machine gun speeds.

Answering before she could continue, Giles said, "Slow down, Buffy. Everything is quite well, but it looks like I'm going to be delayed a bit longer than I'd thought. Is everything all right in Sunnydale?"

Perhaps Buffy could fool one of the others, but he heard the slight intake of breath at the other end of the phone as a falsely cheerful Buffy announced in an all too bright voice, "Everything's great! Patrol, kill, eat, sleep, usually in that order. So what's up in Merry Old Homeland?"

"I'm afraid it's rather grim, but I would prefer not to discuss all the details until I've returned home..." Giles began saying when a squeal at the other end of the line was heard.

"Sorry, Giles, that would be Dawn practicing for the next Halloween movie. Speaking of Halloween, will the Council celebrate?"

Giles laughed, knowing Buffy was redirecting the conversation to avoid whatever was going on at home. He didn't appreciate her trying to protect him, but there really wasn't anything he could do from England. Instead he replied, "Can you honestly see Quentin Travers celebrating anything? Besides, Halloween is not quite as widely celebrated in England...oh, not since Reformation anyway. I believe some children have adopted American customs though I doubt many adults quite understand why. Perhaps we should have a fancy dress party."

"Huh? Fancy? Um, Giles, I'm talking about Halloween, you know, ghosts, goblins, everything you swear never comes out this time of year and always seems to in Sunnydale," she quipped back at him.

"Sorry, Buffy, I should've said costume party. Anyway, no, I'm afraid it will be a quiet evening here for me, though I'll probably visit an old friend," translate that to, 'ask Lydia out on a proper date that didn't include his cousin and her eccentric boyfriend', thought Giles, and he'd be telling his Slayer the truth.

"So, how come it's taken you so long to call?"

"Funny," Giles said, instantly knowing that neither Dawn nor Spike had given her a single message, "I was just going to ask you the same thing. I've gotten your messages, and I've spoken to Dawn several times. We really must get you a cell phone. There are several family plans these days, and we could include everyone if you wanted."

"Wow, it's the Amazing Techno-Giles and his sidekick, Cingular! Again, why with the no-call?"

Oh lord, the girl was half-listening again which meant spelling it out for her. "Yes, very droll, but I suspect you should ask Dawn why she hasn't give you the messages I've-" again Giles was interrupted.

"DAAWWWWNNN SUMMERS GET BACK DOWN HERE NOW!" Buffy shrieked at an unearthly decibel.

"Mr. Giles?" Tara had taken the phone.

"Tara!" he answered fondly, "How you are you?"

"I'm okay, um, Buffy has a little problem with Dawnie," said the young witch.

In the background Buffy yelled, "Why haven't you been giving me my messages!"

"So I hear," the Watcher felt like things were going to be all right for the first time in weeks having heard all three young women at the Summers' house. "I take it you received my e-mail, Tara, thank you so much for asking Buffy to phone. I'm quite relieved to hear from all of you, but I must say, you have a far better idea of the time difference here than Buffy does." Giles heard Tara laugh quietly.

"I remembered to check my email after class. I told her to wait a few hours, but she swore you wouldn't mind. Uh... Mr. Giles? You know...you didn't have to get me anything-"

It was Giles' turn to interrupt someone, "Nonsense, Tara, you were instrumental in helping me with inventory, and now all I ask is that you let me know whether or not you approve of the gift. Fair enough?"

"More than fair," Tara answered, and Giles could hear the smile in her voice, "thank you."

"You're quite welcome. And do remind Dawn I have something for her as well before she has the chance to get into your gift," answered Giles.

Tara laughed heartily, "Already done. I promise." Neither of them mentioned Willow.

Before Giles knew what was happening another voice came through the line, shattering the quiet conversation he'd been having. "GILES! Tara said you bought gifts-what'd you get me!" Dawn chattered excitedly.

"I'm not telling you, Dawn, it's called a surprise for a reason."

"That is so not fair. Tara gets her present in the mail," whined the girl.

"Tara spent at least forty hours of her busy week helping me without my asking, so I'd say that she has earned more than a little thank you. You, on the other hand, can wait until I get home."

Giles would swear he could hear Dawn roll her eyes, "Okay, fine, but you have to tell me something first. Is Prince Harry really that cute in person or is he just photogenic?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," replied Giles, startled by the question. Teenage girls were just so frustrating! Having spoken with each of the women, Giles promised to check his e-mail in the morning. Tara had sent him a note and mentioned that Anya might give him a call in the next few days. He said goodnight to each of the girls and returned to bed, falling into a restless and nightmare filled sleep, each dream more bizarre than the last, a voice calling to him that he knew he should recognize.

...

"Rupert!" Quentin Travers snapped, "we need to speak-now."

Giles followed the older man into an empty office and watched as Quentin set up wards against eavesdroppers. "Oh lord, Quentin, what's happened this time?"

"Lydia showed me her notes this morning... She tells me you've involved your cousin. Are you certain that is wise?"

"Yes," Giles spoke cautiously, "I have every confidence in Sarah's computer skills."

Quentin sighed, relief evident in his tone, "Her father called this morning and sends his congratulations, Rupert, he is extremely pleased with your efforts to recruit Miss Giles into the Council of Watchers."

Taken aback, Giles replied, "I was afraid this would happen. I'll ring him this afternoon and let him down gently."

"I'll take that to mean Miss Giles is helping you, not the Council at all," Travers chided. "Rupert, I need all the allies I can get within the organization, and her father would prove to be a great asset, along with you of course. Consider persuading the girl, and whatever you do, refrain from phoning her father!" It was an order that spoke volumes, and Giles had no idea how to get around this one. Travers glared at the younger man, and the Watcher realized why Travers was so insistent the truth behind Sarah's help not be mentioned.

"He's coming here," Giles stated.

"For the vote, yes. By that time, everything will be in order, correct?" asked Quentin.

"The situation shall have to be resolved, or there won't be a vote," retorted Giles.

"Too true, so get it done. You shall have whatever resources you need, including Philip-he's quite handy with spell casting research, along with weapons. I thought perhaps it would be best if he and Lydia worked together on this project. I've also taken the liberty of contacting Greece, Rupert, and they have agreed to allow Lydia and Philip full access to their libraries once I disclosed the circumstances," Travers informed Giles.

"You didn't! Oh gods, man, weren't you thinking? Sir Robert and Adam were murdered, Quentin! And it was a power play by one of the factions within the Council or, if we are quite lucky, it was an outside force with ties to Sunnydale. If we are quite unlucky, both or worse will be involved!"

"Not _everything_ is about your Slayer!" snapped Quentin Travers.

"What about the missing files?" demanded Giles.

"I am quite certain it has nothing to do with Miss Summers!"

Anger rising, Giles retorted, "I am not convinced of that! Apparently, Sir Robert was quite amused by Buffy's antics, and I suspect there are several people within the Council who did not take kindly to his generosity regarding me or the Slayer. I read the notes-when will her salary become a reality?"

Travers paled and asked, "Do you honestly believe someone murdered Sir Robert because he favored your methods as a Watcher or found that young woman even slightly entertaining?"

"I honestly don't know, Quentin, but I will say I am well aware of Sir Robert's feelings after reading his journals. He indicated his acceptance of the Sunnydale situation was not appreciated."

Smirking, the older man replied, "I suspect you are reading far too much into this, old man. I know of Sir Robert's opinions regarding you and Miss Summers as well, but the fact is, there is no possible connection between his murder and your suspicions."

Perhaps it was the smirk that made Giles blood boil, but he was furious with Quentin Travers' dismissal of the mere notion that Buffy or anything to do with the Hellmouth might be involved. "It's more than that, man, someone is playing a very dangerous game with me, and I bloody well intend to find out who! God help you if you're involved." Giles stalked out of the office in a rage, too furious to notice the acrid odor surrounding him or the electrical charge as the wards fell across the property.

...

As soon as Giles regained his composure, he sensed he was being followed and was unable to pinpoint his pursuer's location. He strained to listen, the hallways oddly silent for the late morning hours. When his cell phone rang, Giles found himself answering it carefully, half expecting it to attain a strange life-force and turn on him in a homicidal rage.

Faint whimpers and pitiful mewling greeted him this time as the voice from the previous day said, "Sussed me out yet, mate? And here I thought you were a clever boy, but that's not quite you these days, eh? Something bubbling beneath the surface? Something fiercer than the mild mannered Watcher? No more lapdog for you."

"Who are you?" demanded Giles.

"Ask the wind, the storms, ask the sea, ask the world when the quakes hit and shake to rattle teeth from skulls, reverberating through flesh until the masses are a pallid and empty shell... Did you ever hear this one, mate? He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts," the voice called mockingly. "Put the letters together, solve the puzzle, find me!"

Frightened and angry beyond all thought, Giles yelled, "DAMN YOU! I will find you, and you will pay for Sir Robert's death!"

A nasty, tittering giggle filled Giles' ear, but it came from behind him rather than the cell phone. He whirled about and faced thin air.

"I swear, old man, I didn't kill him. He was decent to me even when I didn't deserve decency. He was the sacrificial lamb led to an unholy slaughter," the man on the phone suddenly sounded so tired to Rupert Giles. "Your Slayer-doesn't it always lead home? I tried to be better for a time, but I can't breathe in here, help me!"

"Then tell me who you are!"

The line went dead and the hallway dark. Giles stared in horror at the light emanating from his cell phone as realization dawned at last. The note, everything surrounding him was gaining clarity, and he'd been talking to a madman while being watched by at least one killer. Unfortunately, there was only one man insane enough to plead for help while playing such infantile games. He desperately needed to find the caller, but determining his whereabouts would be damned near impossible.


End file.
